Tag: lumberjacks

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Uncategorized Writings

Bracing Myself

Sometimes I think men are about changing the outer world while women are about changing on the inside to find the magic in what is.

I feel art is a feminine activity…. it lets people transform by seeing beauty in new things. To step outside the judgments which cage their perceptions. Art that simply caters to current tastes dulls the senses like being hooked up to a masturbation machine. Artists have to follow their own muse oblivious to the taste of the people.

The point is not to please nor to shock. But to deliver a fresh stream of water that people can choose to align their psyche with should they need it. The fresh input allows inner things to reconfigure and helps flush out the gunk.

It’s the same with thoughts. Fresh perspectives have value, even if you don’t happen to need that perspective at the moment. At least it will be there offering you a mental alternative should you ever get stuck in the future.

Whether songs are good or bad and perspectives right or wrong seems besides the point. They are crayons you can add to your crayon box just in case. A color you dislike now may appeal in the future.

I’m saying all this because I want to write about hillbillies and am bracing myself for the backlash. I have yet to recover my nerve from when people attacked me for writing about poor people. It doesn’t matter that I was praising poor people & pointing out that they might be fairies in disguise. In fact people seemed angry that I wasn’t describing the poor as miserable beings leading a pointless existence.

I internalized these attacks to where I became afraid to see my own experience of poverty in a magical light. I wish I could return to that lens though. It made me feel safe and uplifted.

But when autumn came I went into panic mode…. I must figure out how to make a living now or I’m going to die! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! And the more I panic the more I can’t think at all.

So I may just have to accept the possibility that I will end up living under a bridge getting stabbed to death by a mugger because so far no better plan has come to mind.

Maybe if I had the confidence to stay on my own wavelength rather than trying to be Tarzan the Dentist I could think more clearly. Maybe a possibility for how to survive would come to mind, maybe something I could actually do.

Cause the more I try to be a lumberjack the more my brain seizes and my body freezes and I can’t function at all.

All my life I’ve felt this guilt about not being a lumberjack, a gladiator, a professional boxer. I’m never hearty, tough, dirty and hard scrabble enough to please the people around me.

James was the first person to accept me as I was and that caused a lot of my psychological problems to clear up. I stopped needing to match the color of my ice cream to the color of my shoes. I could tolerate a wider range of colors, sounds and smells which let me function more normally.

But none of this happened because he was trying to change me. Its because he accepted me as I was. If I needed white ice cream topped with white sauce and white sprinkles he would help me find it until eventually I didn’t need it anymore. He always told me to trust myself and no matter how far out my preferences were he never tried to force me into conventional ways of being. Paradoxically this made me feel more at peace with conventions until I could see them as sources of comfort. Because I’d become comfortable with myself.

But now that I’m facing annihilation the panic returns that I must become someone else to survive. A gladiator. A lesbian. A mailman. A criminal. I must shut the fuck up and find something heavy to lift at once. Then I’ll be safe.

A baby walrus I found at a flea market. I listed him for sale on eBay like a damn slave. I am wondering if I can become a stuffed animals dealer.
A quilted bear I also found and listed.
A mustard package from biscuit world…. something about this color scheme really blew me away… it looks so warm and grounded yet also inviting adventure…. maybe these are the colors of the future?
I ate a plate of poison mushrooms, projectile vomited them over my whole apartment & ended up in the ER. They were jack o lantern mushrooms & I can only hope I gained some special jack o lantern powers from them.
A stone a man gave me. Is he a keeper?
Downtown Charleston WV. I like it. But I’m not certain if it likes me. I feel I don’t have any of the traits that are valued here, like being super tough and down to earth.

Categories
Charleston, West Virginia men Politics Writings

A Black 8 Disclaimer

I see life as a collection of diverse and frequently opposing forces- elements, virtues, qualities etc- that must remain in a workable balance. All forces can be used for good or evil.

So please keep in mind, when I am writing about current events, whatever side I appear to stand on is relative to present day threats and imbalances, as I perceive them. If there is a drought, I want rain. When people are blobs, I want war. When everything turns to yellow, I want illegal drugs. When people are drowning in purple, I want to ban drugs. All of my stances are *relative*, so ten years from now I will likely be on a different side of the same issue. I don’t have a specific vision for what our society should look like, but I do feel it keenly when things have gotten out of whack.

I believe the stars in the sky are literally Virtues. There are a zillion virtues humans can attach to and many of these are diametrically opposed to one another. Therefore, it becomes about aligning with the virtues which lead you towards your peculiar destiny. Or sometimes relating to a virtue only temporarily, because it can guide you out of a problem you are facing. Following a virtue will guide our lives in a specific direction, just as the stars in the sky do.

Being a black 8 means that I believe all virtues are inherently equal, but only specific virtues will be helpful to a specific person or situation. Therefore I don’t judge things by whether they match a specific ideal, but by whether or not they feel right or else give you a darkened backwards spin in your stomach. Generally, I don’t like men in dresses for example, but sometimes I do. Generally, I don’t think people should consult astrologers, but sometimes they should. Right & wrong is about aligning with an underlying true nature which is infinitely variable in the forms it can take.

So right now I promote virtues like patriotism, hard work, self reliance, masculinity etc because it feels as though they are needed. We are overdosing on empathy, introspection, sensitivity and self-care to the point that they have become toxic and are poisoning people. But they aren’t inherently bad. Personally, I am more introspective than patriotic because that relates to my specific life purpose. Since I have an active use for the energy of introspection, it isn’t toxic to me.

But to suggest that everyone needs to spend time journaling is just icky. *IF* any virtues are to be overemphasized, they should be the virtues related to survival- hard work, responsibility, common sense etc. Because without enough of these root level virtues, everything else becomes irrelevant.

And it is disturbing that these foundational virtues are the very ones under attack. As someone who works in non-practical realms I feel a sense of gratitude & debt towards those who do practical things. Because without them I wouldn’t exist. When musicians search for flaws in the way lumberjacks think as an excuse for attacking them, it is so wrong. The impractical should never disdain the practical and pretend to be its superior. Nor is it reasonable to think root level people will tolerate this forever. Musicians need lumberjacks more than lumberjacks need musicians & it is important to never forget this.

Of course, some musicians find my views on this offensive. Usually male musicians. I don’t know why. But to me, it isn’t a negative to need someone more than they need you. Why is that wrong? It’s just the way life is.


Categories
Charleston, West Virginia Earth, Pink, Mothers, Love Writings

Trapped in Man Crust

I feel like I am trapped in a man’s body. Not my physical body, but like there is a giant man around me, a crusty man suit, which I must wear to deal with the outside world. It is so heavy. But I need to act like a man so people can understand me. Men do not understand women, in my experience. You must put everything in manguage so they can hear it. If you want to seem intelligent you must seem heavy & thick. Women can understand you regardless, but I must be a man around them as well, because women need men, and I feel responsible for taking care of them.

It would feel selfish not to be a man. Lift heavy logs, stroke egos, be boring & responsible. This is my moral programming. Above all- be crusty. My feminine self doesn’t even want to be nice to people- it would prefer people being nice to me. My man self doesn’t care how it is treated though. You can break giant logs over his head and it will not deter him from trying to care for you.

My feminine self does not understand the things people say. People seem to talk in puffy word clouds, with their words having no specific meaning. Men do this especially. They puff out words & the words have that intelligent aura, but when you try to boil them down, you cannot find anything specific they are saying at all! I don’t know how to process that.

Most of the concepts people throw around mean nothing to me- love, compassion, forgiveness, goodness, kindness, equality… what are these things? Once again, they feel like clouds, positively charged, commonly used to obscure something nasty. They evoke fear in me. When you see empty positivity, you can be certain its opposite- tangible negativity- is not far behind. Why do people blow these words around? Do people wake up in the morning thinking “Equality. Compassion. Heal the World?” Or are these concepts only used when others are listening?


I don’t understand books either, though I try. I open them to a random page, read the first sentence, and realize this will be unbearable. I can tolerate children’s books- so long as there are no morals involved- and also simple autobiographies- so long as they aren’t written by writers. I detest the puffy way writers write. I guess I have real issues regarding words.

Though I wish I could be real around people, I can’t. My real self is needy, weak, pathetic. Semi-retarded. The opposite of what anyone needs. I must be peoples Knight in Shining Armor. I must protect them and be the one to take bullets. I must lift heavy logs & then retreat back into the woods with a sporty whistle. The lesbian lumberjack. It is so lonely though. There is too much of me and too little of anyone else.

But also there is none of me and too much of everyone else.

Technically there are other people in my life but they feel… predictable. They rarely say or do anything I could not have thought of myself. I wish people were more surprising and could open doors to new realities. I wish books could do the same, but I can’t find these books.

Of course, I mostly connect with others in a mental fashion. In physical life, I bet people are surprising. Robbing banks, anal sexing their cousins…

But the mental realm tends towards dullness. It may be the average person just doesn’t have much to say beyond recirculating group mind concepts. Talk to a few people & it can feel as though you have talked to them all.

Perhaps emotional relationships are the answer. What does this mean though? I think the essence of emotion is to give of yourself. To take a risk. To make a sacrifice. There must be some transfer of bodily fluids, at least on a symbolic level, or relationships are pointless. Social media does not make this easy though. In many cases you have no idea who you are interacting with and just opening up a vein does not seem advised. In real life, exchanging fluids is now illegal since it spreads disease.

Nonetheless there is something about giving of oneself, in a meaningful way, that magically opens the door between people enabling you to see through their eyes and know things you could never have known. I am not sure if words alone can do this. I guess that is why people used to sacrifice animals to the Divine- spilling living fluid to open up a portal beyond what prayer can do.

I am glad we don’t sacrifice animals anymore, but still the principle applies. Blood, sweat, tears, something liquid must spill or else nothing truly new can ever break through into this world.








Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia Music & Songs Videos

Old Guitar (Video)

Trying to take a video with my telephone.

This song is called “Old Guitar” which is strange because I hate songs that mention guitars in them. It is creepy- like a painting of a paint brush. I don’t trust artists that are so into art that they actually write songs about it. It feels masturbatory when artists set art too high on a pedestal. If artists are going to worship anyone, it should be the people who make it possible for them to pursue lacy ephemeral things- people like lumberjacks, soldiers, carpenters, farmers, moms etc. It is only thanks to these practical people that the ones like me can exist.*

Also,  I sort of believe that- as much as possible- artist should try to be soldiers & lumberjacks themselves, not just sit around fingering a guitar all day. Otherwise, they are like cut flowers that don’t have much to draw upon.